


my favourite colour is you

by velvetnoodle (goldfishsunglasses)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Louis Tomlinson Calls Harry Styles Pet Names, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 16:47:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14549055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldfishsunglasses/pseuds/velvetnoodle
Summary: Harry and Louis have been best friends for decades, and practically attached at the hip the entire time. Harry would scoff whenever the people closest to them would question their lack of an actual relationship, because the idea of the two of them being anything more than friends is the most preposterous thing he can think of.Until, one day, it isn’t.





	my favourite colour is you

Harry’s known Louis his entire life - literally. Their mothers met in a prenatal water aerobics class taught by Louis’ mum and became fast friends. Three-year-old Louis had been fascinated by the idea of a little brother, not caring how many times his mum had tried to explain to him that Harry wouldn’t  _ actually  _ be his brother. That didn’t matter to Louis. He was sick of being an only child and desperately wanted a playmate; a story his mum loved to share with anyone who would listen, even as Louis was well into adulthood. He’d blush, but never stopped her, and Harry would feel a tiny thrill at being reminded of how important he’s always been to Louis.

Louis’ been there for him ever since then, and he’s been there for Louis, and it got to the point where they were no longer _J_ __ust_ Harry _ and  _ Just Louis _ , somewhere along the way they’d transformed into  _ HarryandLouis _ , a singular entity that everyone was so used to that whenever one of them was out by themselves - which, to be fair, was an incredibly rare occurrence - they’d be questioned within an inch of their lives about the whereabouts of their other half, and whether or not they were okay. 

From their early days all the way to secondary school, they were inseparable, and the three years Louis was away at university were harder on Harry than he liked to admit. Manchester wasn’t that far away from Doncaster - he could get there in under two hours with minimal stops - but he’d grown accustomed to seeing Louis every day and he felt the loss deeply. Still, he spent every weekend he could with Louis, and when it came time for him to attend, he lived off campus with Louis who’d graduated the year before and was now working towards his teaching certificate.   

After that, it just made sense to continue living together. They were a team and it seemed silly to break that up, especially when good flatmates were so hard to come by. Harry’s sister had questioned his decision in the beginning, sure that by now the two of them would be sick of being attached at the hip, but Harry had just shrugged. 

“I don’t want to live with anyone else.”

She didn’t bring it up after that, but ever since then, Harry would occasionally catch her glancing at them shrewdly out of the corner of his eye. If he didn’t already know that Gemma regarded Louis as a second brother, he might almost think she didn’t like him.

When his mum passed away, Louis made the decision to move back to Doncaster to be closer to his siblings. Naturally, Harry followed him there, and together they mourned the loss of Louis’ mother, and then Harry’s stepfather barely six months later.

Most people seemed to assume they were together. Louis would narrow his eyes, not afraid to call someone out for assuming that two gay men couldn’t cohabit without sleeping together. Harry never minded that much, but it did make him sad that Louis seemed so offended by the idea of dating him.

Several months ago, their mutual friend Perrie had taken it upon herself to find Harry a boyfriend. Enlisting the help of a few of their other friends, she set him up on a myriad of dates that Harry went on, mostly because he would’ve felt bad for refusing when she obviously put so much time into finding someone she thought he would like. 

His latest date - a bloke named Jason - dropped him off not too long ago, not that he’s had a chance to get changed or process much of anything, though, as Louis’d been on him practically since he’d walked through the door. He wanted details, and he wanted them now. And really, how could Harry not indulge him? So he finds himself stretched out next to Louis on the other man’s bed, a position he’s found himself in numerous times over the years, and possibly one of his favourite places to be. 

“You really went all out for this one, huh?” Louis says, once Harry’s done describing the elaborate set-up he’d planned out. 

“I did,” Harry admits. “Felt like a proper adult, too.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, H, but you  _ are _ an adult."

“Looks like you figured out how to tell me that just fine.”

Louis laughs. “So, how was the rest of the date?”

“It was good.”

“That’s awesome, Haz. I’m glad you’ve found someone cool. When are you going out with him again?”

“Oh. I’m not,” Harry says, and Louis snorts.

“Yeah, okay, sure.”

“I’m not,” Harry repeats.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why won’t you go out with him again? And why didn’t you go out with the last guy again? And the one before that? When’s the last time you even went on more than one date with someone?”

Harry blushes, and then juts his chin out. “When is the last time  _ you _ went on a date at all?” he challenges, and Louis narrows his eyes.

“We’re not talking about me,” he says, but he looks nervous now, and Harry’s sure he’s off the hook as long as he keeps this up.

“I just don’t think it’s fair for you to be questioning my dating history when you haven’t been on a date since…” Harry pauses, trying his best to remember the last time Louis went out with someone. “Hang on, I’m trying to remember.” He’s so lost in his thoughts that he almost doesn’t notice the strange expression on Louis’ face.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what? I’m not even looking at you. Shut up. Besides, I dated people at uni, remember?”

Harry does, and he also remembers being jealous that those various individuals kept taking up Louis’ time. “That was almost a decade ago,” he counters.

Louis scowls. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“I’m not trying to. I’m just curious, is all. Because… Because you’re fit, and you’re funny, and you’re kind and intelligent and strong and... and I just can’t understand why you don’t have people lining up to date you.”

“Who says I don’t?”

Harry blinks, surprised. “Do you?”

“Of course I don’t.”

“If you did…” he says cautiously,  “if you did, what would you do? Would you date someone then?”

“Probably not.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Louis,” Harry pleads.

“Stop.”

It’s at that moment that he also remembers why most of those relationships ended, that his jealousy of Louis’ boyfriends always seemed to go both ways, and he has to bite his tongue to stop the shocked exhale from escaping. The wheels are turning in his head now, but there’s no way he’s right. 

Louis looks proper nervous now, and it’s making Harry dizzy, drunk on the idea that Louis’ got a  _ secret _ . Louis’ never kept a secret from him before; maybe Harry should be upset that he’s chosen now to do so, but he wants to know the secret more, so he keeps his mouth shut and lets Louis talk. Except Louis isn’t talking anymore, he’s staring at Harry with wide eyes as if begging him to just  _ let it go. _ But Harry can’t. He’s too invested now.

Louis’ always been the bolder of the two of them, always ready to confront problems head-on, never afraid to stand up to bullies or defend people he loves. Harry loves that about him, and knows that even if Louis’ yelling obscenities at a retreating back, he’s doing it for a good reason.

“It’s different with you,” Louis says, like he read Harry’s mind, saving him the trouble of trying to find the right words.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Harry counters, and Louis frowns.

“Would you believe me if I said I’m in love?”

“That depends,” he answers slowly. “Who you’re in love with.”

“It’s you,” Louis finally confesses, and Harry inhales sharply, because he didn’t quite expect that. 

Then again, he realises, maybe he did. It feels like a revelation, it feels like he’s just taken a leap off a cliff while simultaneously having his eyes opened for the very first time, and he’s got no idea how he’s gone this long without knowing. He can’t find it in himself to regret it, though, because that would draw focus away from Louis, who’s still going, words tumbling out like he can’t stop them, and Harry finds that he doesn’t want him to. 

“I’m in love with you,” Louis’ saying, and it hits Harry again that this is  _ happening _ . And again, because Louis’ still going, face flushed as he continues. “I’m so in love with you,” he says again, “oh my God, Harry. You don’t even know,” he finishes, and Harry’s got butterflies,  got a pounding heart, got tingles up his spine, because it’s  _ Louis. _ It’s Louis who’s saying these things. It’s always been Louis, whether he was aware of it or not, and he’s struck with the urge to tell him so. 

“I do,” he says without hesitation, and then amends, “at least, I think I do.”

Louis’ eyebrows go up, eyes wide. “What?”

“I’m in love with you.” He moves forward. It feels important. “Too,” he says quickly. “I’m in love with you too,” and frowns when Louis sits up abruptly and crosses his arms. 

“I didn’t say ‘I love you’ to hear it back,” he says, his words bordering on a snap. “I said it to make sure you knew.”

Harry raises his hands in surrender, and reaches for Louis, pulling him back down, pulling him close, because he needs to show he means it, that this isn’t some sort of obligatory response. “I know.”

Louis’ face relaxes as he allows himself to be held. “Okay.”

“Okay?"

“Yeah, okay.” Louis inhales, exhales, inhales, exhales, and Harry is almost certain he’s fallen asleep until he asks, “How long have you known?”

“Known what?”

“That you were in love with me.”

“Oh. Well, I just realised it, like, right now. Well, not  _ right now.  _ But it definitely never occured to me until tonight.”

“I can’t tell if I’m supposed to be insulted or not.”

“Not,” Harry says quickly, “definitely not. And even then, it’s not a completely new revelation. I’ve always loved you, Lou, you know that. I just… tonight it just sort of hit me, y’know? Like, I looked at you, and it clicked.” 

“I’ve known since I left for uni.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “This isn’t a competition.”

“I know. But if it was, I would win. Also, Gemma knows.”

“Wait,  _ Gemma _ knows? Why tell her and not me?”

“Well I didn’t plan to tell her, now did I? She figured it out on her own. Too bloody nosy, your sister is.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, “and way too good at keeping secrets, apparently.”

“So…” Louis says, like drawing the word out as long as he can to fill the silence. “What now? Where do we go from here? Is our friendship ruined? Are we boyfriends? Do we sleep in my room now? Or do I have to sleep in yours? Because you know how I feel about your mattress, Haz, it’s too fucking—”

“Louis!” Harry shouts, causing Louis to flinch and close his eyes. Harry’s trying to ignore the pounding of his heart as he inches forward, resting one hand on the dip of Louis’ waist, and using the other to catch him by the chin. He tilts Louis’ head back until he’s looking up at Harry. At least, he would be, if he would open his fucking eyes.

“Louis,” Harry whispers, “Lou, baby, look at me. Please?” He does, lifts his head tentatively, and Harry’s taken aback by the raw emotion on his face. Harry inhales; it’s now or never, and never sounds quite terrible, really. “I’d quite like to kiss you now, if that’s okay?” he asks, hesitant, like the moment is spun glass and the wrong words will shatter it to pieces. 

Louis lets out a ragged, shuddering sound and nods jerkily. Harry can’t stop the smile that’s threatening to take over his face as he drops his head down and brushes his lips against Louis’. He does it again, and again and again until, finally, Louis’ reaching for him, nails scratching his scalp as he threads his fingers in Harry’s hair and pulls. 

Harry inhales sharply, Louis’ actions balancing on the knifepoint between pleasure and pain, and finally descending fully into pleasure as Louis takes over the kiss, slipping his soft tongue into Harry’s mouth. They fall into a familiar routine, which should be strange, as they’ve never actually kissed each other before, but it’s  _ not _ . It feels normal, and wonderful, and so, so right. Harry doesn’t want to do anything but kiss Louis for the rest of his life. 

“Oi,” Louis says, and Harry flushes because he suspects he just said that last bit out loud. “Oi, don’t I get a say in when you get to stop kissing me?” 

“Maybe we should kiss a little more until we figure it out,” Harry suggests.

Louis shrugs, like there’s actually a chance he could be indifferent to that suggestion. “Let’s do that, then.”

The only sounds in the room are breathy sighs and the soft smacking of lips when Harry’s phone starts to vibrate. He’s about to let it go to answerphone when Louis pushes him away. 

“Aren’t you at least going to check who it is?”

“Absolutely not. Not when I could be doing this.” And then his mouth is back on Harry’s, who quickly forgets about the phone call, about any phone calls ever, as he loses himself in the kiss. At this point he’s lost track of how many times they’ve kissed tonight, but each one has been good, so good every time. New and exciting, all of it. 

It’s a night of firsts; firsts of many, firsts with each other, firsts Harry hadn’t even known he’d wanted. And those are good too. So good, every time. 

And after, when they’re lying on Louis’ bed, Harry tucks his head into Louis’ neck and inhales deeply, revelling in the smell of Louis; of sweat, of sex, of  _ boy.  _ His boy. He sniffs again, getting slightly lost in the moment when Louis pokes him in the side, making Harry let out an extremely undignified yelp. 

“Move over,” Louis huffs. “m’arms falling asleep.”

Harry knows he should care, he really does, but moving means that Louis will stop holding him, and Harry doesn’t want Louis to stop holding him. 

“No,” he replies petulantly, earning himself a shove that nearly lands him on the floor. He glares at Louis, who just laughs. As an act of revenge, Harry tackles Louis, pinning him to the bed. It’s a dirty trick, Harry knows, as he’s much taller and broader and therefore has the upper hand in situations like this one. He doesn’t feel bad for long, however, before Louis’ flipped him over, scrambling forward until he’s sitting on Harry’s chest, knees bracketing his shoulders. 

Louis flashes him a cheeky grin, like he’s actually won something, like Harry couldn’t easily regain the upper hand, make it so he’s snuggled in Louis’ arms again. 

Which is exactly what he does.

Louis doesn’t protest this time, just lets Harry rest his head back on his chest; he sighs contentedly at the familiar  _ thump, thump _ that helps to soothe his frazzled nerves. Tonight has been a lot, but Harry’s never been happier. And he knows for certain that he wants nothing more than to fall asleep to the sound of that heartbeat, preferably for the rest of his life. 

So that’s exactly what he does. 

**Author's Note:**

> [click here to reblog on tumblr!](http://velvetnoodle.tumblr.com/post/173615347627/i-just-dont-think-its-fair-for-you-to-be)


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